First, I should clarify that I am not a movie buff, so if you are, please don’t call me up to tell me how much I don’t know. My favorite movies star Belle, Cinderella, and Rapunzel. In fact, I only know that the Academy Awards are in February because Ed Bradley says so in his column. But here’s my opinion as a non-movie buff. I find most movies nowadays to be unnecessarily long; I think somewhere along the way directors fell prey to the idea that longer equals better. In docu-drama type films, it always feels to me like the film is peppered with a bunch of random, pseudo-artsy scenes that have no bearing on the plot, and in action movies, the same long, disorienting (fake) fight scenes seem to take place over and over.
On December 30, 1936, during a shift change, workers took over Fisher Body Plant One. As one of one of two auto body stamping plants, the strike immediately got national attention. GM tried twice to use a court injunction to make the strikers leave, but it was discovered that the judges issuing those injunctions were GM stockholders. On January 11, city police tried with guns and tear gas to storm Fisher 2 plant, which had also been taken over by strikers, but failed in what is now called “The Battle of Bulls Run.”
She got me thinking about something that happened to my son, Jeff, when he was six years old. My husband and a friend took Jeff and his older brother, Matthew, to the auto show in Detroit. The event was jam-packed with people, so my husband bought balloons and tied them around the boys’ wrists. His reasoning was that if they were to wander off and get lost in the crowd, they would be easier to find. And believe me, Jeff was known to frequently wander out of sight. He was a cute little boy with curly blonde hair, blue eyes and a sweet smile. But his middle name could have been Dennis the Menace, as trouble seemed to follow him everywhere he went. So, my husband was not too surprised when, after looking away for just a second, Jeff was no longer at his side. But he wasn’t too worried, as he could see the “locator balloon” bobbing in the distance.
The reason many of us fail at keeping resolutions is that we set goals that are impossible to reach. Don’t run … take baby steps. Start by taking a daily walk. I always told myself it was just too darned cold to walk in the winter. But I made a conscious decision to bundle up and walk three times a week. Each day it got a little easier and it was invigorating to be outside in the fresh, cold air.
I’ve been known to make resolutions regarding my health, exercise and financial goals. Despite my best intentions, the business of life, temptations of past eating habits, or the after-Christmas sales at the stores have derailed my plan for success. I’ve come to realize that I’m not the only one with a problem, and it’s made me realize the two major culprits contributing to our collective downfall.
I am not against resolutions. I make them. In fact, as 2011 rang in, I made a fabulous resolution. It had nothing to do with how I looked or saved or what I wanted to stay away from. I made a resolution to love. Love what or whom? Everyone. I resolved to live a life free of anger, gossip and other such negative feelings or actions towards my fellow man/woman/child.
When I was but a young lad, I created a game that became a New Year’s Eve tradition in the Ribner family home. That said, I was the only one who actually enjoyed it. The game appealed to my inner schadenfreude – pleasure derived from others’ misfortune – and it was designed to poke a little fun at my long-suffering younger brother. I called it “New Year’s Sucker” and as its name implies, the game was designed to make the loser feel like a fool, a chump and a sap.
I got married in May 2014, and I noticed that as I researched trends and advice for various articles, I was sad. As I studied DIY methods, I remembered the fun I had creating the favors for my wedding with my family. As I looked at photos of gorgeous gowns, I remembered the fun of having my mom’s wedding dress altered to fit me. Finally, I realized that I missed the planning, the excitement, and the anticipation. Perhaps I even missed the attention I received as a bride …
Naturally, I was a bit worried. My father had taught me to keep my right foot in the middle of the lane, obviously not good advice when you are positioned on the right side of the car. In the days leading up to the trip, I adopted a pretend air of confidence. I felt it was necessary amidst my mother’s cries of, “You’re so brave! Think how dangerous it will be!” I had to feign indifference. Anxious? Me? Not at all. Preposterous!
While I was raised a Catholic, I chose long ago to follow a different spiritual path. My adopted faith is called Asatru, which means “true to the Aesir gods,” and it’s a modern reconstruction of the ancient pagan faith of northern Europe. As a heathen – what we Asatruar call ourselves – I venerate Odin, Thor and the other gods of the ancient Norse pantheon, and live by the Nine Noble Virtues: courage, truth, honor, fidelity, discipline, hospitality, self-reliance, industriousness and perseverance. I won’t burden you with how I came to choose this path; but suffice to say, these ancient deities and the qualities they represent resonate within me like nothing else ever has, and I’m proud to have pledged myself to Odin long ago.
